


Passing The Torch

by GSister



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GSister/pseuds/GSister
Summary: "You know, Blaisdell and I did talk before he left…" – Captain Karen Simms





	Passing The Torch

**Author's Note:**

> This was an Auction Fic for Teresa from the Yahoo Group... Really late. And not beta'd like it should be - all my fault.
> 
> These Characters do not belong to me (but if they did, I'D share… probably.) That said, this story was written purely for self entertainment and no money is being made, has changed hands, or has been paid out for the contents therein. It's totally S’s fault that I got into fan fiction in the first place. Without her encouragement (nagging), constructive criticism, and long talks on characterization, I might still be writing pathetically depressing purple poetry, and what prose I did write, would NEVER be finished… 
> 
> ~Constructive Criticism will be graciously accepted  
> ~Flames will be used to toast marshmallows

"Thanks for meeting me here," Paul Blaisdell greeted the tall redhead as the waitress escorted her to the table, took their drink orders, and then handed them each a menu. 

"I'm happy to do it," she answered. "I understand I have you to thank for this position," she stated.

"You had the best qualifications," Paul returned. He looked her over under the guise of perusing his menu. He'd been here before, he knew what he liked, and he made his choices for lunch quickly. The choice to take his place as Captain of the 101st Precinct had taken decidedly longer— and one that he'd insisted on having a hand in. He felt justified that he had made the right choice as he studied her now. She was stylishly, if conservatively dressed, and her long auburn hair was pulled up into a French twist at the back of her head. She was younger than he was; closer to the age of some of the detectives who would soon be under her command at the 101st Precinct, yet not so young that it should be a problem. 

Karen Simms, in the meantime, was making her own observations of the police captain sitting opposite her as she quickly made her choices from the menu. Captain Paul Blaisdell was older; he could retire at any time and receive full benefits from the police department. His tall frame was unbent by the age that lined his face and colored his short hair an attractive steel gray. He had a strong face, but Karen could see the toll that recent events had taken on him printed in the weary sorrow that his eyes could not hide.

"You know that you don't have to do this," Karen stated suddenly, breaking the silence that had descended upon the table. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to. There are plenty of cops in addition to the 101st who will back you if you wanted to stay."

Paul gave her a smile of gratitude. "Thanks, but I need this. Not only is it good for the department for me to step away for a while, I need the time to clear my head."

Captain Simms nodded solemnly. Paul Blaisdell had been set up and accused of the murder of an old friend. To make matters worse, it was an old friend that had set him up and actually committed the crime. Loss and betrayal weighed heavily on his soul like a stone.

"Will you be back?" Simms asked.

"Worried about how long you'll be Captain?" Blaisdell asked, archly. He relaxed his expression into a knowing smile. It was right for her to ask, given the way that he was leaving his position; in her shoes, he'd want to know, too. “I plan on it. But I don’t know when. But don’t worry about the 101st. It’s yours. Unless you don’t want it when I come back, I’ll either move up, step into a consulting position, or retire. But I don’t think you’ll want to give up the gang at the One-Oh-One.”

“Will they have a problem taking orders from a woman?” Karen asked abruptly.

Blaisdell was all business as he answered, “No. Not at all. Not the core of the precinct. They’re a good bunch of detectives. I think the majority of the resistance that you’ll encounter will have more to do with my leaving than with your gender.”

“Your son is one of the detectives, isn’t he?” Karen tried to keep the question neutral.

“Peter?” Paul raised an eyebrow. “Yes. But he never got any special treatment from me. In fact, I was harder on him at work just so no one could say that he got preferential treatment. And Peter is okay with that. He’s never tried to presume upon our relationship.” 

Simms nodded. “So tell me about the core group. What can I expect?”

Paul took a moment to marshal his thoughts. He was about to speak when the waitress returned with their drinks.

“Here you go,” she stated, setting down the diet soda with lime for Karen, and the large coffee for Paul. “Are you ready to order yet, or do you need another minute?”

“Karen?” Paul asked, indicating that he had made his decision already.

Karen ordered quickly, choosing a soup and salad combo. Paul added his own order and the waitress whisked away the menus, promising their lunches would be out shortly. 

“You asked about the core of the 101st,” Paul began, once the waitress had gone. At Karen’s look of interest, he continued, “The day shift desk sergeant is John Broderick. He holds a tight front line; you’re going to want to make sure that you keep him. The Captain over at the 86th keeps trying to lure him away.” He confided, “They need someone who can straighten out their paperwork. You won’t find many officers that can hold the line like Broderick, and keep the paperwork straight. He can keep his cool while processing the results of a multiple gang riot, a vice sting that bought in a whole stable of prostitutes, and deal with a worried young lady looking for her kidnapped uncle who just happens to be one of the most important people in Chinatown.”

“Does this happen often?” Simms asked with a raised eyebrow.

Blaisdell laughed. "Just last Thursday, in fact. Vice busted one of the local pimps who was running drugs and under-aged girls, about the same time there was a squabble over gang turf outside the youth center. And someone kidnapped the Ancient.”

“The Ancient?”

“An old apothecary in Chinatown. He’s somewhere between 65… and 103 years old. He’s a tough old bird, a Shaolin Priest, and I believe a Shambala Master. It’s not easy to take one out, even one as old as he is.” He smiled at her look of confusion. “Don’t worry. If you spend any time at all in Chinatown, you’re bound to meet the Ancient.”

“I can’t wait.”

Paul smiled at her dry tone. He took a sip of his coffee before he continued. “Your Chief of Detectives is Frank Strenlich. A good man – ex-Marine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a Drill Instructor when he was in the Corps. He’s as straight a cop as you could hope for in an officer with as many years on the force as he has. And you can’t ask for a more loyal second in command.”

Karen Simms was watching Blaisdell’s face as he sang the praises of the Chief of Detectives. There was something he wasn’t saying. She decided to push for it. “But?”

Paul sighed. Damn, she was almost as good as his wife, Annie, at reading him. “But… Frank’s loyalty takes time to earn. Any new command is going to have its share of dissenters, and Frank is most likely to be your biggest one. He’s argumentative, he’s stubborn, and it’s easier to pick up a bus by hand and move it than to force him to change his mind.” Paul paused, aware that he could be describing another of his detectives, but let the thought go. Time enough to introduce her to that complex young man later. “Don’t get me wrong, Frank will give you all the respect your position deserves, and he’ll make sure the others toe the line as well. But personal respect is another story. You’re going to have to earn that from Frank, and you already have two strikes against you,” he told her seriously.

“You mean because I’m a woman taking a man’s job?” Karen asked, feeling her temper beginning to rise. Great, just what she needed, she thought, a Neanderthal as a second in command.

“No,” Paul interrupted her murderous thoughts. “Strike one is that you aren’t me. I’m afraid that there’s nothing that can be done about that. A lot of cops at the 101st are going to hold that against you, at least at first.” 

“And strike two?”

“You’re not a Marine. Secondary to being in the Corps, of course, would be if you had been in any of the Armed Forces and seen action. Or at least been in the Military in some fashion.”

"My son is in military school and I was married to a military man. Does that count?" she asked him sarcastically.

"I doubt it, but it may earn you a point or two," Paul conceded in all seriousness.

"Who else do we have?" Karen asked, changing the subject slightly back to the original topic.

Paul allowed the conversation to be led. "Next we have Detective Dexter Blake. 'Shaky Blake' they call him. But don't let the nickname fool you. If you need precision electronics work done, Blake is your man. He's the electronics surveillance wizard. If you need a bug that won't be detected, or a wire for an undercover op, Blake is the man to see. I brought him with me when I joined the police department."

Karen felt her eyebrow rise at this information, but knowing where Blaisdell entered the police department from, she let it slide. "Why 'Shaky'?" she asked instead.

"His hands shake. So does his voice, on occasion. But it isn't from nerves – it's from long term focusing of fine motor skills under adrenaline overload. I've known EMS workers whose hands have a tremor to them when they aren't working, as well. Blake's are like that. But when it counts, they are the steadiest hands in the room." Paul leaned closer across the table and lowered his voice. "I'll tell you one thing, when there's a bomb under your chair and the timer is ticking down with only minutes to go, there isn't anyone I trust to defuse it more than Blake."

"High praise indeed," Karen acknowledged.

Paul nodded as he leaned back in his chair. "He's more than earned it." His tone dared her to disagree.

Simms could tell that there had to be some good stories behind the statement – the type of stories that by rights should be told around a few beers and a bar or a poker table in that rare moment of relaxation cops called 'off duty'. The type of stories that just grew wilder with every beer, until they became utterly fantastic, and approached the truth. She knew that she'd never get them out of Blaisdell, not before he left, anyway, but perhaps she'd be able to coax one or two of them out of Blake himself sometime in the future. She would definitely look forward to trying. "Who's next?" she asked, taking a sip of her diet soda.

"Let's see now…Want to know about some of the women at the 101st? There's Janice Morgan – she works with Vice. She's a little abrasive, has a tendency to speak before she thinks, but all in all, a good kid. Kelly Blake – no relation to Shaky – just recently made detective. Definite temper on her, but she's a sweet kid. She sometimes comes across like thinks she has something to prove. But she's a good cop. I wouldn't have kept her at the One-Oh-One if she wasn't. Let's see… Mary Margaret Skalaney. Mary Margaret has been with me the longest of the female detectives." He gave a chuckle as he added, "Her mother keeps trying to get her married off, thinks it will get her to quit being a cop and settle down doing something less dangerous, like producing a passel of children." Paul paused long enough to take a drink. "I don't see her quitting even if she does get married. Mary Margaret is a great detective. She's compassionate without being a sucker for every sob story. She's strong, but she's not afraid of being soft at the same time. In a way," he mused, "she's a lot like my Annie."

"Your wife sounds like a very special lady," Karen remarked, noting how both Paul's voice and expression would soften when he'd mention her.

"Oh, she is, believe me, she is," Paul stated fervently. He shook himself out of his thoughts of how much he was going to miss his wife. "Where were we? Oh yes – Jody Powell. Jody is another good detective to have on hand, but again, she has a temper. She's a little more abrasive than Mary Margaret, but then, Jody lost her twin sister in the line of duty a couple of years ago, before she was assigned to the 101st. Both she and Peter blame themselves for Kira's death, even though neither of them were at fault."

"Why?"

"Jody blames herself because she wasn't here. She thinks that if she had been, she might have been able to protect her twin. Seems she always used to protect Kira when they were younger, you know how that goes. And Peter… well, he was with Kira at the time. They were on a date that turned into a police situation when they tried to protect a civilian from an assassin. And because the assassin was someone from out of Peter's past with his father… " 

Karen felt her eyes widen and her eyebrows lift. She would definitely have to read that report for more information. 

Paul wasn't ready to go down that road yet. He brought up another cop. "Roger Chin – solid detective, and usually the one sent undercover in Chinatown. He's fluent in Chinese, one of the few officers that are, although you'll find that quite a few of them that have spent enough time out on the streets of Chinatown picked up a few words and phrases. But Chin also looks the part. Although," Paul paused, giving a rueful shake of his head, "if you speak to him on the phone before you meet him, you may have a hard time connecting the voice with the face."

"I take it he doesn't normally have an accent or any Chinese… pattern… to his way of speaking?" 

"Chin is third generation Chinese American. Peter has more Chinese mannerisms than Roger does in his day to day habits." 

"Really?" Karen's tone showed her interest.

"Peter Caine is the son of my heart, and always will be, but Annie and I didn't get him until he was fifteen years old. He was raised by his father in a Shoalin Temple until he was twelve." 

"What happened when he was twelve?" Paul could read the interest on her face.

"The Temple was violently destroyed. Peter was told that his father was dead, and he was eventually sent to an orphanage where I met him a couple of years later. Something clicked, and Annie and I fostered him."

"You didn't try to adopt him?" Simms asked, puzzled. 

"Annie and I were willing, but Peter wasn't ready to give up that last link with his past. To us, it didn't matter. Peter was our son, and that was the end of it. It didn't matter to us if he kept the name Caine, took Blaisdell, or we had the legal documents to back it up. Peter became as much a part of my family as my own girls." 

He looked her straight in the eye. "Peter had expressed an interested in the police department shortly after I first met him. But that wasn't why Annie and I took him in. He could have chosen to do anything he wanted to with his life, and we made sure that he knew that. The day he told me he wanted to apply to the Academy was one of the PROUDEST days of my life. And I couldn't be prouder at his reason, or as a father, worry more because of them."

"What do you mean?" Simms was frowning now. The last thing she needed in her command was a hotshot cop. 

"Peter joined the Police Department to help people, to protect the ones who can't protect themselves. Some of that I recognize as my own influence, but a lot of it is his father's influence, and just Peter himself. What worries me is that in protecting others, he'll often neglect to protect himself."

"He's a maverick," Simms stated disapprovingly.

Blaisdell surprised her with a chuckle and a grin that lit up his face and took years off his appearance. "The best ones usually are," he admitted. "Don't get me wrong, Peter is a good team player. In fact, he plays for the police league on both their hockey and basketball teams. And he's been known to coach teams for the youth center. But Peter has a very wide streak of protectiveness in him, and it's at its widest when someone that he cares about is in trouble." His expression turned rueful. "Peter is one of the most protective, most sympathetic, most… hard headed cops I know. He's… argumentative, stubborn, loyal, trusting, paranoid… and he has some of the best instincts of anyone I know – cop, soldier, or civilian. If he ever tells you something feels wrong on a bust, don't ask too many questions, just get everyone the hell out. He's a hell of a cop. I'm damn glad I had him in my unit. At the same time, I thank God every day that I only had one of him." He laughed at himself at the last statement. "Actually, I mean that both as his commanding officer and as his father. I can't imagine Peter NOT being in my life, but at the same time, he has definitely been a challenge." He looked Karen straight in the eye, made sure that he had her attention before he continued, "One that I wouldn't have missed for anything."

"And now you're passing that challenge on to me," Karen guessed.

"Oh, yes," he agreed. "I wouldn't want you to get bored. I had Peter almost settled – well, as settled as he ever got – until a couple of years ago. And then the challenges began anew." At Karen's look of interest he explained, "His father walked back into his life."

"So I take it his father didn't die when the Temple was destroyed. He just abandoned his son?" Karen was aghast. 

"Kwai Chang Caine was told that his son was killed when the Temple was destroyed. Apparently he was injured himself, and was taken to see his son's grave. He then spent the next fifteen years wandering the country, searching for some kind of enlightenment or inner peace or something." Paul easily read the disbelief on Karen's face. "I checked him out – trouble seems to follow Caine. Which explains where Peter gets it from." 

"He goes from place to place getting into trouble? What kind of record does he have?" Simms asked, trying to picture the trouble-making drifter, Kwai Chang Caine.

"No record. He doesn't cause trouble, it comes to him. I believe the catch phrase is: 'Come to Chinatown. Ask for Caine. He will help you.'" 

Karen could almost see the quotes as he spoke.

The look Simms shot him displayed blatant disbelief. "It's true. I've seen him take down armed men while being unarmed, himself, against overwhelming odds. And when Peter's in trouble, Caine just seems to… show up. He's saved his life on more than one occasion. The problem is that Caine makes Peter doubt himself. Peter had a hard time trying to reconcile his father's teachings with the Western world he lives in the first time around. Now that he's a cop, he's even farther from his father's teachings. And his father doesn't always look at him and see the grown man that he's become. In a lot of ways, in Caine's eyes, Peter is still the twelve year old boy that he lost sixteen years ago." 

"That would be a tough situation for anyone to deal with, male or female. But I'm sure you know as well as I do that to a parent, their children will never be completely grown up."

"You mean that Kelly and Caroline will always be my little girls no matter how old they get, and Peter will always be my son. That's true enough, but I hope I can look at them and see the adults that they've become. Caine can't always seem to achieve that, for all his mysterious powers."

"Mysterious powers?" Karen asked, skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

Paul gave her a knowing look, his blue eyes twinkling. "You'll understand better when you meet him." He changed the subject slightly. "There is one more detective that you need to know about. If he stays around after I leave, that is." 

"If he stays around? There's some doubt?" Karen's tone was dubious.

"You have to understand, Kermit worked with me… before. Like Blake. But unlike Blake, there is nothing even remotely," he paused, searching for the right phrase, "…domesticated… about Kermit Griffin."

"Domesticated?!? What kind of precinct are you leaving me with, Blaisdell?"

Paul's voice was wry as he assured, "Don't worry, most of the detectives never even see him. Sometimes he doesn't come out of his office for days. He runs the computer searches," he explained. 

"And he's a detective, not tech support?" the tone was puzzled.

"Kermit is very good at what he does. He just doesn't always play well with others. Although," Paul's tone took on a musing quality, "with me gone he just might stick around to keep an eye on the others, especially Peter." His expression turned thoughtful. 

"I take it Detective Griffin is just as protective of people as Peter is?"

"It’s hard to say just what will raise Kermit's protective instincts," Paul told her. He hesitated a moment, then revealed, "Kermit used to be a mercenary. But he fought for causes, not money. And he has his own code of ethics, so…" 

Karen gave a sage nod of understanding, though she kept her face impassive. Great. Just what she needed. An ex-mercenary who fought for 'causes' along his own definition of ethics; a hard-headed, stubborn, argumentative, soft-hearted maverick with a Lancelot complex a mile wide; ex-Marine who would respect her position if not her personally; a techno-wizard ex-spook with shaky hands; a handful of temperamental female detectives whose mouths worked independently of their brains with varying degrees of chips on their shoulders; a desk sergeant that would be able to hold the line if he wasn't enticed away by another precinct; and only a handful of officers that actually spoke Chinese, one of whom was already on assignment undercover in Chinatown. She took a deep breath and let it out as a gusty sigh. Well, no one ever told you the job would be easy.

Paul watched as Karen absorbed all the information he'd just thrown at her, well aware that she was drawing conclusions that would doubtless prove erroneous when she got to know the men and women of the 101st. "For what it's worth," he told her seriously, drawing her attention back to him, "I think that the men and women of the 101st precinct are among the best that I've ever worked with. And if there were a way around it, I wouldn't be leaving them now. They're a great bunch of people. They'll serve you well."

Karen looked into Paul's face. She could easily read the conviction there, and knew that these were not merely coworkers to him – they were family. She nodded her head once, acknowledging the message he was trying to send. She hoped one day the men and women of the 101st could claim that she was family, as well…

~*~


End file.
